


Out Of Time

by xantissa



Category: Andromeda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes it is only the silence of the night that makes him do it. Other times it’s only the naked need that drives him out of his quarters.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Of Time

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting older stories from 2004/2005 so be gentle

Sometimes it is only the silence of the night that makes him do it. Other times it’s only the naked need that drives him out of his quarters.

It’s like an addiction. The more he needs it, the more he realizes that it’s not going to be enough. Walking through the empty hallways, he can’t help but remember how it buzzed with life, thundered with thousands of footsteps. It was a moment away for him, three lifetimes for the universe, and he is alone.

Utterly alone, out of time and out of place. And in those empty times, when the only thing that keeps him alive is hope, he found the strangest of comforts. It does not make him feel safe, it does not make him feel needed, but it makes him feel alive. This addiction of his, this strange need, is setting his blood on fire and making all of his senses sing and it’s a good thing. For once, this late at night, the numbness leaves him and he is alive.

He watches the door slides open with barely a hiss and he can feel the heavy beating of his heart, the quickened breathing. All are the signs of his excitement, of his need.

The room is dark, but he doesn’t need the light. He knows it by heart already.

A sound to his left and then unbelievably strong hands grip him, pushing him backward until his shoulders hit the wall, and rough lips seal over his. A smoky, dark taste explodes in his mouth as the wet and slick tongue invades him. He twists his hands into the long, soft dreadlocks and pulls them back harshly, seizing control of the kiss, causing pain, but he knows it’s what his partner wants.

Under his hands he feels the hard, hot body. The muscles that are every man’s dream and the silkiness of the skin stretched taut over them. His hand slides from the powerful neck to the well-developed pectoral, fingers grazing over the sensitive, hard little nub, eliciting a groan from the man in front of him.

Feeling the vibration from the large man’s throat travel all the way down to his loins, he realizes that he loves this. Loves the feeling of danger, the unending challenge of the man in front of him. Their bodies press at each other, the soft rustling sound of the cloth over naked, hot skin fills his ears and he shudders. This is what he needs, the very epitome of being alive.

A groan is pulled out of his body as the moist, soft lips travel down his exposed throat, the thin line of facial hair tickling and stimulating his skin even more. His hands scramble to get a hold on something, anything but the hot, smooth skin.

They are both panting by the time they get to the bed. There are teeth marks on his skin, he can feel them, and he makes sure that his partner has some marking also. It’s like a battle. Push and pull, attack and retreat, fight and flight. Their bodies slide over each other in the darkness, the smell of two aroused males thick in the air, and for a moment he wishes he could see. He wishes to not only taste and touch the powerful expanse of body, but see it also --but he knows it’s a foolish wish.

Because it would break the illusion.

His body shudders explosively as the hard boneblades scrape over his vulnerable belly, no doubt leaving a red mark behind. It only serves to heighten his passion, his arousal. The reminder of how vulnerable he is there, naked, with a man that treats his whole body as a weapon, but it’s something he also wants.

Hands touching him, tongue tasting him and teeth scraping at the most unexpected moment have him at the peak of arousal before he even has time to plan his attack, but it’s okay. There will be a next time. He acknowledges the fact that he is not the one in charge this time. In that first moment, that rough kiss by the door, when his body was pinned to the wall by the hot frame of his lover, he gave himself over to the need, thus letting his partner win. But it wasn’t their first battle and it wouldn’t be their last. The war will go on.

The thoughts don’t leave him even as the rough hands roll him over to his stomach and strong, thick fingers prepare him with just the minimal amount of care. The moans that spill from his throat unchecked are testament to his lover’s skill, as his whole body quivers with need and he takes a deep breath, knowing that he won’t be given much time to prepare.

And just like that, he feels the blunt, hot head of his partner’s erection press at him, forcing entrance slowly but surely. The burning pain of stretch is the thing that he needed so much, is the reason for his coming here.

Their bodies connect in an age-old dance and the pleasure and need, the sheer desire, force each and every clear thought out of his mind, leaving only the colors and sounds and the sensations to run amok over his body, wrecking his control and making him come in shivers of light and color.

When he regains control over himself, he feels the warm wetness inside him and the withdrawal of the softened erection. For a moment he considers stopping his lover from breaking their connection, not wanting to have to return to the cold reality of the lonely night, but he doesn’t do it.

After all, each ended battle is only a prelude for the next one.

 

The end


End file.
